A Family Lost
by annoying-antisocial
Summary: A pile of bones is discovered, leading the team to suspect a cult. The Jeffersonian team and Agent Booth work to solve this peculiar murder, but Dr. Lance Sweets finds himself questioning his make shift family.
1. Chapter 1

**Quick note: **_All credit to Fox, Bones is not mine. Most of my stories are centered around Dr. Lance Sweets, I'm sorry, he's my favorite. This will be mostly about him, but not completely. Have fun reading, thanks! Review, Follow, Favorite, whatever you like!_

…

Chapter 1-

Dr. Temperance Brennan's experienced hands flew over the x-rays, pointing many markers out to her young intern, Arastoo Vaziri. The remains before them were from 'limbo'. They were checking a few remodeled fractors on the left ulna. Cases had dried up recently, they hadn't had a murder to solve in nearly a week. Temperance let out a deep sigh, looking at her promising young intern. "Mr. Vaziri." She commanded his attention with her strong tone. "What do you think could cause injuries such as these?"

"Well, I see remodeling, and from the look of it the injury was obtained six years before death." He nodded, tracing a gentle finger across the bone. "It's a greenstick fracture." The intern said, turning his dark eyes to the pelvic bone he sighed. "A boy, judgin by the size, between 5 and 10."

"From your tone, I discern that this is displeasing." Dr. Brennan said, hiding her own sadness. Ever since Christine was born, she had found herself feeling deeper loss when the remains of a child arrived on her table.

"He was so young…" He chimed, staring at the bones. "Well, there are no obvious wounds, or anything pointing to foul play. Natural causes?"

"Yes." Brennan nodded, a small smile on her face. "By the density of these bones, and the other details we've discovered it's obvious that cause of death is-"

"Bones!" Came a thick, strong voice. "Bones? Bones, where are you!...Oh, Bones!" Booth announced, smiling like a child. He walked over to his partner, grinning. "We've caught a case!" He clapped, and the anthropologists face lit up.

"Let's go, Booth!" She smiled up at him. "Mr. Vaziri, can you gather these up and bring them back down to bone storage?" She asked, but Brennan was already heading out the door with the large agent. The intern nodded, his eyes still on the skull.

"Okay, so some nature lovers found the bones in the forest." Booth explained as he turned a corner, his voice giddy with excitement. "They were walking the trail when one saw this rare bird, or something and went running off. When they caught up with the ditcher, she'd found a pile of bones. The tech guys say it's literally a pile of bones!"

"Sounds peculiar." Brennan nodded, watching him intently. "Though, not definitely murder."

"What do you mean, 'not definitely'?" Booth groaned. "How else do you explain a pile of bones, Bones?"

"Well, scavengers could have piled them up, or it could be a tribal ritual. Actually, there was an ancient tribe that-" But she halted her words when Booth parked the car.

"Yeah, that's great Bones." He smiled, unbuckling his seat belt. They both slid from the car, and Brennan snapped on latex gloves. FBI techs swarmed the area, slowly the partners made their way through the area to find Cam standing over a pile of bones. The largest of the 206 bones on the bottom, slowly moving up to a skull balancing precariously on a femur that was stabbed into the ground.

"I must admit, this doesn't appear accidental." Brennan sighed, shuffling to the bones. She bent over them, gliding a hand over the rib cage on the bottom. "Definitely murder." She nodded, pointing her finger to the two bullets lodged in the fourth left rib. Nodding slowly, Agent Booth scribbled away in his notepad. A few FBI techs wandered over, taking closer photos of the rib cage.

Cam, Brennan, and Arastoo buzzed around the bones as Angela sketched off to the side. Hodgins was analyzing particulates in his office, and Booth was shouting into his cell phone. The team was working the way it should, perfect chaos. Booth was groaning into the receiver of his phone, telling Caroline they hadn't identified the remains yet, and she was shouting back. Angela was laughing as she made a base for the facial reconstruction. "Brennan, sweetie, are you done with his head?" The artist asked, her voice light and sweet.

"Yes, Angela, you can take the skull." Brennan said, waving her hand at the skull. Angela nodded, picking the skull up. Dentals had come up empty, and the team was running out of patience. The woman carried the skull gingerly, finally setting it in her office.

"Well okay, Brennans says your early to mid thirties, caucasian-latino racial mix." Angela smiled, brushing her fingers along the skulls forehead. "I bet you were rocking facial hair. Okay..mhm, here we go. There, now I've got your eye shape down. What'd ya think?" She grinned at the skull, feeling a little ridiculous talking to it. Soon she worked over the reconstruction. Before her was the face of a well built man. Square jawed, with eyes a little too far apart, a 5 o'clock shadow on his chin. He gave a stern look, with strong, squinty chocolate eyes, and a small smirk. Soon she ran it through the data base, and got a hit on missing persons.

"Angela, get a hit?" Cam asked as Angela rushed onto the platform, giving a file to Booth. Her fingers danced over the keyboard, pulling a face up on the screen.

"One Mr. Daniel Medina, age 33. He lives in Leesburg, Virginia with his wife, Maria Medina. No kids, and he works as an accountant for Kingston and Co." Booth skimmed over the file, reading it out for the others. "All around good guy, volunteers during his vacation time even. Doesn't seem like a cult crime kind of target."

"You couldn't possibly know that from reading a file. There is also _no_ evidence of a cult crimes on the remains yet!" Brennan sighed, looking over the bones. She was about to go on, but then she remembered Booths ability to read people and understand them was one of the reasons she cared so deeply for him.

"Well, Bones, how else could you explain how we found the victim...wait, no. Don't answer that!" Booth waved his hand at her, taking a deep breath he continued."I called Sweets, he said he'd work up a profile. I'll see how he's doin on it." Booth smiled, walking off to call the Psychologist. "Sweets, yeah...Hey, did you get a chance to work on that profile?...What do you mean, 'what profile?!'...C'mon Sweets...yeah, yeah I know you're sorry….Just get working on it!" The agent groaned, shaking his head. The man was still so young, and flakey. He was a smart kid, Booth knew, but he just acted so immature sometimes. Booth said a quick goodbye to his partner, and headed out of the lab and towards the Hoover building.

A half hour passed, then an hour and soon Booth was walking back and forth in his office. He had spoken to half an hour ago, and had gotten no leads. The victims wife was clearly upset, but not surprised. Thinking back over their conversation, Booth shook his head and plopped into his chair.

"_Dead?" Maria sighed, burying her face in her hands._

"_Yes." Booth spoke softly, giving her a moment. "You don't seem surprised, Mrs. Medina."_

"_I'm not.." She gasped out, her body shaking with tears. "I knew something horrible had happened, or he would have been home."_

Booth understood, many family members just know when a loved one is gone. He'd asked her the usual questions: Did he have any enemies, recent arguments, problems. She'd said no, over and over. He was supposed to talk with Daniel's boss the following day, and now he was stuck, waiting for Sweets' profile. Collapsing in his chair, the agent felt a new rush of annoyance hit. The psychologist hadn't been around much, burying himself in work. He'd been working a case this last week, while the Jeffersonian team waited for some bones. Sweets kept himself busy, and Booth hadn't seen him in two weeks. His first case with the young man in a week, and he just forgot? Booth growled to himself, clicking a pen in his hand. Soon he heard a light knock on his office door. "It's open!" He shouted, hoping his voice would make it through the thick door.

"Agent Booth." Came Sweets' cheerful voice. "I have your profile, though I'm sorry to say it's not my best work." He sighed as the agent turned to him. The psychologist tossed a file to Booth, giving a nod he turned to leave.

"Why do you think that?" Booth asked half-heartedly while flipping through the profile.

"Ah, I just haven't been able to organize my thoughts." Sweets explained with a shrug, Booth looked up, interested now. He nodded, feeling like the psychologist had more to say. "It's nothing to worry about, I'm fine."

"You're probably over tired." The agent offered, getting a skeptical nod from the man.

"Yeah, wish I could get some sleep." Lance sighed, turning towards the door. A sudden wave of nausea took him over, and he reached his arm out. Propping himself against the wall, Sweets held his breath until the vile in his throat went down.

"Woah, you okay Sweets?" Booth had jumped from his chair, already with a hand on the young mans shoulder. Sweets nodded, pushing himself up to stand. "What do you mean, 'wish you could'? You don't have to work this case if you have to much work.."

"No, no no no. It's not work, I just can't seem to fall asleep." Lance laughed, smiling at the agent.

"Oh, well I hope you feel better." Booth eyed the man suspiciously, but Sweets pretended not to notice. Soon the psychologist was out the door, and Booth was left with his worry. He sat in his chair, going over everything Sweets had said, his big brother concerns taking over. Soon another knock was at his door, but they didn't wait for an invitation. Then, Brennan walked in, bouncing Christine in her arms.

"Say 'hi' to your father, Christine." Brennan smiled to her baby, and Booth stood up.

"Hi Christine." He cooed, pulling Brennan to him for a kiss. "Hey Bones." He whispered when they broke apart, giving her a sly smile. "Lets get out of here." Booth grinned, pulling his jacket on. Brennan nodded, and they headed out of the office. When they passed the coffee maker, Booth saw Sweets. Christine started bouncing and giggling, waving her chubby hands at him. Sweets waved back, making a silly face at the baby who started laughing crazily.

"Dr. Sweets!" Brennan announced, turning towards him. Sweets jumped at the sound of her voice, spilling scalding coffee over his hand. The psychologist jumped backwards, waving his hand in the air as the dark liquid flooded onto the floor.

"Awh man!" Sweets growled, looking at the mess. "I'm sorry about that, I'm just so nervous lately, it makes me jumpy." He held his burnt hand to his chest, smiling at the bewildered couple staring at him.

"Woah, Sweets, are you sure you're alright?" Booth was still staring at the pool of coffee on the floor, and Christine was reaching for Sweets to hug her. He smiled at the baby as he peeled of his jacket, the sleeve wet with coffee, and rolled up his right sleeve which was also damp. Brennan held the small child out to him, and Sweets took the baby with his left arm, hanging the right one at his soon noticed the bandage wrapped around Lance's wrist, going nearly to his elbow. "What happened to you?" Booth gasped, staring at the professionally wrapped bandage on his arm.

"Oh, that?" Sweets laughed, bouncing the baby at his side. "I just fell."

"On what, a knife?" Booth countered, staring down the young man.

"It's much more likely he scraped himself when he fell." Brennan offered, and Sweets nodded in agreement. Sticking his tongue out at Christine, she began giggling insanly. Lance plopped the baby in her fathers arms.

"I have to get back to work." The psychologist said, turning back towards his office.

"Work? It's nearly 10:30 at night!" Booth moaned. "Go home, get some sleep. You look like you haven't hit the hay in days!"

"Well, I haven't." Sweets admitted, earning himself a worried stare from the partners. He hadn't slept in nearly 3 days, and he felt like puking when ever he ate. He'd lost two pounds in a week, and he knew it showed. Whenever he did slip into slumber, he would awaken every few hours, unable to fall asleep for at least 20 minutes. He'd been stumbling, and falling all week, and he couldn't see straight sometimes. Lance was worried about his health, but he wasn't going to push it. Everything made him nervous, and his emotions would cascade over him in swings from sad to angry with no warning. Headaches tortured his days, but nervous sweats and waves of emotions haunted his nights. "Don't worry about me, just go home." He sighed, waving his hand to make them leave. Soon he felt himself getting upset at them for not leaving, the annoyance evident in his tone.

"Okay, if you want us to go, fine." Booth complied, slipping his arm around Brennans waist. "Come to the lab tomorrow, some files I need you to see are there." Sweets nodded as the trio made their way to the elevator. Christine reached over her fathers shoulder, waving a chubby hand at Sweets. He waved a finger back at her and snatched his jacket up. A wave of unexplainable anger washed over him as he stomped towards his office. Lance pressed away the rising memories of the past week, ignoring all his fears.

'_Useless. All you do is study what you think people feel, Dr. Sweets. Do you really know anything?'_ The heinous voice breaking his barrier. Sweets shook his head, pushing it all away, there wasn't time. He was prepared to work himself to the bone to help Booth, he owed those partners so much.

…

**And, Bam. Next chapter coming soon! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Quick note: **_The first chapter was a little shorter, sorry. This one shall be longer! Oh, yes the time frame is late 8th season, after Daisy and Sweets broke up and he found his own place. (Miss that Swaisy.)_

…

Sweets spent the entire night in the office, the time passing by without a notice from the psychologist. When strands of morning light washed over his desk, Lance gasped, staring at his watch. Gathering up the files on his desk, he rushed out the door. He was about to board the elevator when Booth's voice called after him. "Sweets! Up early?" The agent laughed, and Sweets spun around to face him.

"Oh...yeah." The young man smiled, nodding. Booth's cheerful expression faltered when he looked over the psychologist. His right sleeve was still rolled up, a dried coffee stain framing the end of his large bandage. The dark curls the young man sported were tangled and matted, and the dark circles around his eyes had grown.

"Did you go home last night?" Booth whispered, pulling Sweets out of the way of two tired looking agents. Sweets turned his gaze to the floor, shaking his head 'no.' "Why not?!" Booth demanded.

"I had work...and I wasn't really tired, so I just stayed here." Lance whispered, and Booth scoffed at him. "I'm going to go home and change my clothes, then I'll go to the lab." Sweets nodded his goodbye and was climbing aboard the elevator before Booth could speak. He gave a large grin to Booth as the elevator doors slid closed. When the large steel finally snapped shut, Sweets fell backwards. Leaning against the wall, he pushed his eyes shut as another wave of nausea took him over. He could taste the vile in his throat, and was sure he couldn't hold it back this time. As soon as the elevator gave a ding, Sweets was out the door and running into the lobby mens bathroom. Lance collapsed over the toilet bowl in the third stall down, feeling his body shake as he gave up the little he'd eaten the past day. On his knees, the man sat there coughing. He'd been easily annoyed lately, so every time something started nagging at him he tried to ignore it. This time he couldn't ignore, it wasn't just today he'd thought this. It had been at least once a day, every day since he'd met the Jeffersonian team and Agent Booth this thought had eaten at him: They never wanted him. He was like the sad puppy that shows up at your door while it's snowing, and you pity him and take him in, but you never wanted him. Sweets was that puppy, the team had been pitying him, and taken him in. Sitting alone on the floor, his throat burning, his eyes watery, and his body exhausted he began to ponder it again. The world was spinning around him, everything was a swirling, blurry mess, and his emotions tangled around his mind, strangling his rational thought.

'_What person who is really cared about sits alone in the bathroom, puking?'_ Sweets thought, pushing himself up onto shaky legs. _'I'm just a charity case for them.' _

Lance's anger had passed by the time he'd arrived at the Jeffersonian, an hour later. He'd changed into a fresh suit, and was pulling at his tie in the parking lot when Booth knocked on his window. Sweets turned, startled from the agents sudden arrival. Pulling the door handle, he pushed the door open gently as he touched onto the ground, and turned to the large man. "Agent Booth."

"Sweets, where ya been?" Booth threw his hands up, grabbing Sweets' right wrist to lead him forward. The young psychologist flinched under the harsh grip, the injury the bandage was hiding throbbing from the touch. Lance pulled his wrist, unable to free himself from the agent. "We've been waiting for you!...Oh, man, I'm sorry." Booth released his wrist, guilt washing over his features. Sweets pulled his injured arm tightly to his chest and nodded.

"Then, lets get going." He smiled at Booth, walking towards the entrance. As they entered, Cam peeked around the corner of Angela's office, motioning them inside.

"Seeley." She smiled, giving him a small nod. "Angela is recreating the murder. Hodgins found some particulates in the rib cage, says they are from red bricks." Cam whispered to the agent as he and the Sweets made their way inside. On the large screen was a featureless person, the skeleton showing through a skin colored veil. The assailant was the same height as the victim from what Booth could tell, and was holding the gun to his chest. Firing three times, the victim slammed against the wall, then collapsed onto the ground, then suddenly the assailant kicked him in the jaw, creating fractures along the bone.

"So he was shot and kicked in the head?" Booth questioned, staring at the replay.

"It appears our assailant shot him, and when he collapsed he.." Brennan paused, bringing her foot backwards, she kicked at the air. "Delivered sufficient force with their foot to create a fracture to mandible on the right side."

"So he was right handed?" Sweets nearly whispered his observation.

"Most likely." Brennan nodded to the young man. Booth turned around, worried by how quiet Sweets was becoming. Lance smiled, trying to keep himself from stumbling. His head started to sway, as he leaned to one side. Stumbling off his feet, he slammed against the wall near the doorway, pushing his palm to his forehead so hard it hurt. Angela and Cam turned, startled by the sudden 'thud'.

"Sweets!" Booth stepped closer, resting a hand on Sweets' shoulder, but he was shaken off. "What's going on kid?"

"Nothing, just a dizzy spell." Sweets waved him off, giving a weak smile. "I'm fine." He laughed, and Booth raised an eyebrow at him. "Where are those files you wanted to give me?"

"With Hodgins, he said something about looking them over and secret societies." Booth stumbled over his words, staring at the young man. Sweets inched away, sliding out the door and nearly running to Hodgins' office.

"What the hell happened to him?" Angela sighed, watching the man flee.

"I don't know…" Booth sighed, palming the back of his neck. "He worked a case with another agent, and now he's all screwy. I'm gonna find out what happened."

"Heys Sweets!" Hodgins grinned, and Sweets waved a shaky hand to the scientist. "You here for the files?"

"Uh...yeah, yeah I am." Sweets nodded, stumbling over his words. "Wait...how were the bones found?"

"Didn't they tell you?" Hodgins laughed, setting the files in the psychologists arm. "Man, they found them piled up with the femur holding the skull. Check out the pictures, its crazy."

"Yeah, yeah they told me." Sweets sighed, tilting his head to the side. "I...I just couldn't remember what they'd said." Lance shook his head, turning to leave.

"I think it was a cult!" Hodgins yelled after him, and Sweets turned, giving a nod and a thumbs up.

Soon Sweets got into his office, and opened the files. He hadn't told Booth he was leaving, and ignored the agents attempts at contacting him over the phone. Now he was scanning over the files, but whenever he started to read his mind drifted.

_'You're a kid, a baby!'_

_'All you do is play mind games. Your an idiot who knows a few big words!'_

_'All those brilliant people you work with, they know! They know how stupid you are.'_

The deep voice rang in his mind, shaking his every thought. Soon his mind wandered to other moments, nothing would stay in his thoughts for more than a minute. He couldn't concentrate, and whenever he tried to read the files nausea would overtake him. "What the hell is wrong with me?" Sweets let his head fall onto his desk, pushing the files to the floor.

Hours ticked by slowly, Sweets trying to read the file. He couldn't get his mind to capture the information and his frustration started to overpower him. Sweets stared at the file and slammed his fist onto his desk. All his frustration coursed through his blood, a swirling frenzy of desperate anger took him over. He had always been the guy who could learn anything, remember everything, and comprehend whatever he wanted. Now he couldn't even read a file. Who was he now, now that he can't even do his job? Falling backwards into the couch, Lance ripped off his tie and threw it to the floor. "What the hell is wrong with me?!" He repeated, pushing on his eyes until colors swirled. Soon he pushed himself up and made his way to the coffee maker. He knew he was just going to vomit the drink back up, but he felt a desperate need for a distraction. Booth stood near the fridge, swirling sugar into his black coffee. Lance turned on his heels, trying to get away before the agent saw him.

"Hey Sweets!" Booth called.

"Agent Booth. I didn't see ya there." The psychologist lied, smiling at Booth.

"I feel like you're avoiding me, kid." Booth turned, sipping his coffee. He started to pour another cup, smiling at Sweets. "Here I'll get you some."

"Yeah... thanks." Sweets sighed, leaning against the counter. "I'm not avoiding you..."

"Really? Why'd you keep ignoring my calls?" Booth pressed the cup into Sweets' hand.

"I'm busy." Sweets mumbled, sipping some coffee from the cup. He felt uneasy, wanting to leave before the coffee comes back up.

"Really? Cause from what I've heard this is the first case you worked on since last week." Booth retaliated.

"Patients... I, uh, have patients." Sweets said, brushing his eyes with his hand.

"Okay, okay..." Booth laughed, gulping some coffee down. "Get anywhere on that profile?" Sweets shook his head, and finished his coffee. "Well...you get working on that. The victims boss is coming in, wanna help with the interrogation?" Sweets nodded yes, and Booth set his cup down also.

"J-just a second!" Sweets coughed, pushing past the agent and running to the bathroom. Sweets fell over a toilet bowl, ignoring the open stall door behind him. Pushing up on his frail legs, Sweets walked to the counter. Splashing water over his tired face he looked in the mirror, and was startled at how sickly he appeared. Soon, Sweets made his was out of the bathroom, dragging his sleeve across his mouth.

"Did you just puke?" Booth looked worried, but yet amused.

"No...what? No!" Sweets waved his hand, walking towards the interrogation room. Booth nodded, setting a mental reminder to pick this conversation back up.

"Hi." Booth grinned, letting a file slip onto the table. "I'm Agent Booth, and this here is my colleague, Dr. Sweets. We'd like to ask you a few questions about one Mr. Daniel Medina."

"Hello Agent Booth, Dr. Sweets." The man who sat before them acknowledge each with his ebony colored eyes. "I'm Sheldon Royal, nice to meet you. Why do you wish to know about Daniel?"

"Mr. Medina was your firm's accountant?" Sweets smiled, glancing up from the file. The tall and lanky man before them gave the slightest nod, his dark hair unmoving because it was thick with gel. His face held obvious annoyance with the doctors ignoring of his question. "Ah, yes. I'm sorry, I'm not very good with these things. Could you please tell me what an accountant does, exactly?"

"He was a staff accountant, so he'd reconcile bank statements to the companys book, prepare property tax returns, issue financial statements of how the company is doing to management, calculate depreciation for all of the assets purchased for the company. Prepare a lot of journal entries, do physical inventory of our products twice a year. That sort of thing." The man stretched a wiry finger out with each job he listed. Sweets nodded, listening intently as Booth yawned. "Why are you asking, Dr. Sweets?"

"Has Mrs. Daniel contacted you?" Sweets proceeded, Royal's agitation growing with each question that was blown off. Gritting his teeth, Sheldon shook his head 'no', slowly. "Than I must inform you that Mr. Daniel Medina's remains have been found." Sweets' tone was clinical, and unfeeling, and Booth was worried by how distant the young man seemed.

"Wh-what?" Sheldon leaned forward, pressing his elbows to the table. Letting his head fall into his large, thin hands, Royal sighed sadly. "I c-can't believe it."

"Yes, I'm very sorry." Sweets' let his voice fall, it was quiet and sensitive again, but Booth still felt uneasy. "I know it's hard, but can we ask you a few questions?"

"Yes..yes, of course." The tall man lifted his coal eyes, now brimming with tears, and looked at the young doctor. "Anything you'd like to know."

"Okay…" Booth smiled, sitting down beside Sweets. "Any fights at work, or anyone that he had a problem with?"

"No!" Royal nearly shouted, taking a deep breath, he tried to manage a small smile. "No...No, Daniel was a wonderful man. Everyone talked to him when they were feeling down, he volunteered, he had been in the Navy. An all around good guy, model citizen, all that."

"Nothing you can think of?" Booth leaned close, meeting Sheldon's black pupils with his own deep brown ones. "Anything unusual?"

"There was this woman, a self proclaimed psychic or something like that." Sheldon sighed, turning his eyes to Sweets. "She was absolutely crazy. She came in to the firm, raving on about how Daniel was supposed to marry her. She kept saying that he threw the universe out of whack because he didn't marry her, it was ludicrous. Her name was something like Andrei." The interrogation continued, but nothing relevant came up. Soon Sweets and Booth were standing in Booth's office, waiting for Brennan to arrive.

"Okay, you with your shrinky aura." Booth sat up in his chair, watching Sweets walk back and forth in his office. "Get any funny vibes?"

"Aura? Vibes?" Sweets turned to him, dropping his head to the side in disapproval. "Mr. Royal is trying to act like he has a better education than he does, if you listen to how he talks. He uses words like 'out of whack', and 'all that', and similar frases pared with his uses of 'ludicrous', and 'reconcile'. He's trying to prove he's more intelligent, and higher up on the social ladder then he is."

"Yeah that's great Sweets, but it's not helpful!" Booth groaned, slumping back in his large chair.

"Well what do you want from me?" Sweets snapped, throwing his hands out to the side. Booth's eyes widened in surprise at the young man's tone.

"What's going on with you?" The agent sat up, concern laced his voice.

"N-nothing…" Sweets turned away, leaning his back against the wall. A dizzy spell was taking him over again, and he didn't want to collapse in front of Booth.

"You've lost probably five pounds, I know you were puking before we went in and questioned that guy, _and_ you haven't been sleeping." Booth stood up, leaning against his desk, pushing on it with his large hands. "What the hell happened with that other agent?" Sweets turned away again, refusing to look at the agent.

"It was just a routine case." Sweets growled, pressing a palm to his forehead. A pounding migraine was blotting out his thoughts, flashes of red taking over his vision. Lance pushed his body up straight, stumbling over his own feet until he finally fell onto Booths desk. Pushing off the hard surface, Sweets kept his eyes down to avoid Booths eyes.

"Yeah, and I'm a runway model with no figure." Booth scoffed, looking down at the young man. "And you and me both know I have a figure." Sweets pushed himself into a standing position, and finally Brennan came in. She held a file under her arm, and wore that 'I-found-something-important' expression on her face. Both men turned to her, and she looked to them with confusion.

…**.**

**Yeah, that took forever! The term writer's block isn't one I enjoy, but I'll have to settle with it for now. Sorry it took so long to get up!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Quick note**: _Ah! I'm so, so sorry! I know it's been forever, I've been distracted. I've also mentioned the forbidden phrase and it has put a slow mo on this fic! Again, I'm sorry, I will keep writing this! There is no way I'll leave it hanging, I've read too many fics like that and I know it's painful. Thanks for staying with it!_

…..

Brennan and Booth went home that night, Sweets sat in his office until 11:30 and also went to his apartment. The conversation Sweets was in with Booth had paused, and the psychologist was hoping Booth would simply forget. Brennan had come in to inform the agent that Daniel Medina had the beginning stages of bone cancer, and time of death was around a week ago.

'_Awh, man.' _Sweets thought silently, watching the road as he drove down the street in the darkness. _'Instead of dying of cancer, he ended up murdered and literally in a pile, and I thought my luck was down.' _Soon, Lance parked his car and was up in his apartment. For fifteen minutes, the young man tried to work on the case but he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering his apartment. Eventually, he gave up and decided to spend his time lying in the dark of his room, in hopes he might fall asleep. It was around midnight when Sweets finally felt his body falling into sleep, and he fell with it because he needed something to stop his memories. In the begining, his slumber was a torrent of images of the horrific events of the past week. A tall, well built figure loomed over him as he sat alone in his office. It was dark, like the Hoover building had been covered in a black velvet sheet. The figure at first seemed to be the suspect from this past case, but soon his face morphed. The man was a combination of the suspect, and of Agent Booth, but his eyes were just black holes of nothingness. As the night drug on, Sweets felt himself unable to escape his sleep, his body betraying him for it's desperate need for the rest. Eventually, the psychologist's dreams stopped, and his sleep was a dark cavern of silence. Hours ticked by without notice by the sleeping man, that was until a stiff knock rung his quiet apartment. "Sweets!" Bellowed Booth's voice, "Hey kid, come on!"

"Wha-" Sweets slurred, pushing himself up. All his muscles were stiff, and his vision blurred. Soon the man made his way to the floor and padded slowly to the door. "Agent Booth?"

"Sweets!" Booth scolded as the door swung open. "It's noon! Are you playin' hookie?"

"Noon!" Sweets' dark eyes widened as he looked desperately around for a clock. Booth sighed, tapping a finger to the screen of his phone, a large 12:07 p.m. flashed on the screen. "This can't be happening! I can't believe this, this is ridiculous!" Sweets stomped into his apartment, grumbling profanities as he pushed his alarm clock to the floor with a loud 'crack!'

"Woah, Sweets, it's no big deal! You're just a little late." Booth followed after, watching the psychologist rip his alarm clock cord from the wall and push his door shut so he could change. "I don't blame you, you haven't been sleeping much lately. It's like you have insomnia."

"It is highly unlikely that- ah!" Sweets voice came through the large door, and an object smashing to the floor interrupted his words. "That I have insomnia, Agent Booth." Sweets sighed as he swung the door open, he was wearing a suit that looked absurdly thrown together. It was a deep black, and he wore a red pin striped button up with a striped reddish-pink tie. Booth felt a grin crack over his face as he looked the young man up and down. Sweets rolled his eyes and tore of the tie and jacket, pulling the shirt off also. Soon he had pulled himself into a plain white button up, and put his jacket back on but wore no tie. Booth's grin fell when he saw the large bruise spread over Lance's upper left arm, fading away into the sleeve of his undershirt.

"What happened to your shoulder?" Booth asked hesitantly.

"Does it even matter?" Sweets' snapped, turning to the agent as he hopped on one foot, pulling on his other shoe. "Don't we have to ask that psychic some questions or something?" The agent gave a nod, and Sweets pulled his keys into his pocket and looked at the older man. They left in silence, and rode to the FBI with only the sounds of a perky radio announcer to fill the air.

Sweets sat across from a woman as Booth stood behind the glass, watching them both. The woman had long black curls pulled into a high ponytail, and a scarf wrapped around her neck. She wore a long purple flower print skirt, and a loose white top with black boots. "Ms. Anna Reiann?" Sweets asked, his voice kind and happy.

"I prefer Andrei, Dr. Sweets." The woman's pale pink lips curled into a smile as her eyes scanned the young man. "What's troubling you?"

"We aren't here to talk about me." Sweets responded, keeping his tone calm. "We are here to talk about you...and Mr. Daniel Medina."

"Daniel?" The woman waved her hand in dismissal and laughed. "He was a patient, he wanted me to see if his wife would get pregnant. Nothing more, nothing less, why are you asking?"

"Because, Daniel's dead." The doctor replied, flipping the file open. The woman's smirk fell as she stared at Lance in disbelief.

"No that can't be right!" The woman pressed her thin hand to her lips, tears filling her eyes.

"I'm afraid it is, now, is there anything else you'd like to tell me about you and Mr. Medina?" Sweets pressed on, staring at the woman. "Perhaps why you went to his office and screamed at him?"

"I-I…" The woman stuttered, shaking her head.

"Because, the day you went in and yelled at him, he went missing." Sweets closed the file, and looked to Andrei with his head tilted to the side. Booth stood in amazement at the stern, unfeeling approach the psychologist had taken. Usually Sweets was kind, he tried to sympathize with the suspects and earn their trust, and now seeing the way he handled this woman Booth knew something bad had happened.

"I went there to tell Daniel that he was meant to marry me." Andrei whispered, looking at her palms. "He really went missing that day?"

"You went to talk to him on November 3rd?" Sweets questioned and the woman nodded sadly. "Then yes, he went missing that night. He probably died that night, also."

"Oh my God…." Andrei gasped, covering her mouth. "I-I loved him! I was just trying to tell him I loved him, and that he was supposed to love me. I know he is, you see, I saw it. My abilities, they showed me how it was supposed to be…"

"Where were you the night of November 3rd?" Sweets insisted, startling the woman into looking at him.

"W-with a client, her name is Belinda Casarue, you can check. I'll get you her information…" Andrei whispered, turning her eyes to the psychologist. "Dr. Sweets, I know he wasn't mine to love, but I still loved him. So I'm asking, please find his killer, please."

"We will." Sweets responded, his tone final. As he exited the room, Booth ran after him.

"Woah, kid, that was harsh." The agent called after Lance, and Sweets turned to face him.

"Isn't that how you 'cool guy agents' do it?" The psychologist shot back, and the comment pressed Booth into worrying further.

"Yeah, maybe, but it's not what you do." The agent said back. Sweets scoffed and walked to his office. "We need to talk!" The agent called as Sweets pushed into his office. Sweets thought over the conversation with Andrei, but suddenly grew confused at what he'd said. Every word had began to mash together in his head, and her responses grew foggy.

"What's going on!" The psychologist groaned, slamming his body into the chair across from the couch. He'd been dizzy, confused, and unable to concentrate lately, and it was driving him up a wall. His mood was changing with the hour, and everything had grown into a large annoyance for him. The agent who clicked her pen while she was thinking, and the man who sat beside her who skimmed through books to quickly and always got paper cuts. The high, nasally voice one of his neighbors had, and the shoe tapping that everyone seemed to do. Every little quirk, every noise made Sweets get more and more annoyed. He plucked his sumo up, and tossed it in the air, and when he reached out to catch it the sumo bounced off his fingertips and he flailed to catch it to only find himself falling out of his chair. The sumo landed beside his hand, and he stared at it with contempt as he sat on his office floor. A headache was shaking his thoughts, and his toes were numb. Lance brushed a finger over his face to find how scarily cold his fingers had become. His index finger felt like an ice sheet sliding over his face, and he was startled. A knock brought him forth from his strange hypnotic state, and he turned to his door. "The door's-open." Sweets words slurred in his mouth, they tangled over his tongue as they escaped his vocal cords. Soon Agent booth came in, a puzzled look on his face. He looked down at the psychologist, who was sitting on his floor staring intently at his fingers.

"Are you drunk?" Booth asked quietly, looking at the bewildered young man. "Cause you sound drunk, and you kinda look drunk."

"I am not-drunk" Sweets' last few words mashed together in an unconvincing drunken slur. Booth cocked an eyebrow at the young man who found the look on the agents face drive him into frustration. The ball of annoyance Lance had been fostering grew larger as a file fell onto his table.

"The labs hitting dead end after dead end, we need that profile." Booth said, turning out the door. "Lock the liquor cabinet kid, you've had enough." Sweets sat glaring at the door, going over the conversation again to find himself confused yet again. All the words spoken began a jumbled mess, and his entire week began to grow into a more and more profound puzzle. Everything in his mind was a haze, vibrant reds flooding into greys, his memories morphing into shouting conversations between two calm people, and whispering matches against a group of angry men. His entire mind was balling into a mess, and he was growing dizzier with it all. The need to throw up rose in his throat, but he pressed it away. Soon, the psychologist decided to push himself to his feet. Pulling up on the chair, he finally got onto wobbly legs and turned to walk to his desk. Suddenly, his knees gave out and he hit the floor with a sickening 'thud.' Sweets blinked, looking around the room in a daze. He sat on his floor alone, thinking over his jumbled memories.

'_I can't stand up, I can't eat, and I can't sleep, or at least when I do sleep I end up sleeping for half the day.'_ Sweets mused bitterly. _'And Booth is the only one who kind of noticed, and he's trained to notice. What kind of man am I if my friend don't notice this?... What kind of person am I if I hide it from them?'_

"Is it even a real friendship?" Lance whispered aloud to himself, looking up at the spinning ceiling the man sighed.

Back at the lab, Hodgins was practically running to Cam's office with joy. "Sneezewort Yarrow!" He exclaimed, and Cam turned to him with her arms crossed.

"Do we have to do this every case, Dr. Hodgins?" She spoke, her voice quiet but threatening.

"I'm sorry!" He sighed deeply, but the smile returning. "Sneezewort Yarrow ,or _Achillea ptarmica_, is the flower I found in the victim's head wound."

"Why are we so excited?" Cam said, pushing to her feet as Hodgins tapped across the keyboard to bring his finding up on the monitor.

"Because, Sneezewort is mainly found in Finland." The scientist smiled, turning to his boss. "And I found traces of it on the fractures on the mandible!"

"Wait, are you saying our victim was kicked in the face by a person who had stepped on Finish flowers?" Cam asked, stepping closer as Hodgins' fingers danced over the keyboard.

"Yup, actually dried Finish flowers." Hodgins smiled, pulling up a map. "And only a few stores in the DC area sell Sneezewort."

"Call Booth." Cam smiled back, and Hodgins gave a nod as he rushed out of the room. Cam walked to the bone, ready to catch Brennan up on the new information when she found the woman puzzling over the bones. "Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, Dr. Saroyan?" Temperance turned, looking at the woman. "I've found how the killer cleaned the bones."

"And how is that?" Cam enquired, snapping on latex gloves.

"Dr. Hodgins found evidence of Dermestid Beetles on the bones." The anthropologist responded, looking up at the woman before her.

"This killer really knew his stuff…" Cam sighed, looking at the remains with pity. "A professional?"

"Perhaps, or a scientist, or a hunter." Brennan replied, standing up straighter. "But still, it appears the killer knew what he was doing."

"Sweets better get on that profile…" Cam spoke quietly, and Brennan nodded looking up from the bones again.

…

**We have officially broken Sweets, and may or may not have a professional killer. Yay us... **


	4. Chapter 4

**Quick note:** _Awh man alive, I keep failing to update this. Well, I'll try to get a schedule down, just a lot going on. Freshmen year is killing me, okay, I'm lame like that. Thanks for reading!_

**Disclaimer**: _Did I do this yet? Awh hell, I'll do it again. Bones is not mine, none of the characters belong to me. This is property of geniuses, namely Hart Hanson. Kay thanks._

Dr. Sweets leaned against a wall in his office, inspecting the interior of the room. Lance paid no mind to the ring of his phone that shouted the call from Agent Booth. He ignored the flooding of his email by the Jeffersonian team and his worried peer agents. Truly, Dr. Lance Sweets wasn't really in that office, he was lost in the vortex of darkness that is referred to as his mind. Memories with the Jeffersonian team, with Daisy, and with his parents had overtaken his mind. One nagging question wormed its way through the laughs and good times, a snake of a thought was slowly creeping up on the broken mind of a psychologist.

_'Does this stitched together family I cling to so tightly even want me?' _

That was the demon thought that rung Sweets' happiness, slowly killing the comfort he'd found. It wasn't even a question, but a realization he'd decided upon. A thick knock on the door brought Sweets up from his bubbling thoughts and he strode to the door to open it. When the hinges squeaked open the door revealed Agent Booth. He stood with his thick arms crossed, a stern, offended, and annoyed look hung on his features. "We've caught a lead. Come on, she's waiting." The agent said, his voice like steel. Sweets nodded slowly, pushing his feet forward. Every nerve in his body, every thought and movement was desperately focused on his balance. He could feel his knees buckle, and he could feel his legs wobble so every step was a hazard. When they'd finally reached the interrogation room Booth pushed inside, letting the door close before Sweets could enter. Lance flinched at his cold, angry nature but followed inside. The psychologist's muscles ached for a break, so he let himself collapse in the chair that sat beside Booth. The agent's shoulders were turned away, and he was tense with anger.

"My names Leslie Chancler." A timid voice sounded, and Sweets' eyes shifted to a short girl. Her hair was long, with soft curls at the tips of each strand, her eyes were large and puppy like with their dark brown, innocent fear. Her lips were glistening in the harsh interrogation room light, and her bottom lip quivered as she looked between the men. Sweets could only guess she was 14 or 15, and he felt a twinge of pity for her. Tugging on the necklace she wore, she looked at the table top. "I...I heard Mr. Medina was dead, murdered, and I wanted to come tell you guys some stuff, so maybe you could find who did it." Sweets let himself smile as he watched how determined her frightened face was, she'd practiced those lines he was sure.

"Yes, of course, Leslie. It's very kind of you to come in, I mean the FBI building can be kinda looming, huh?" Sweets smiled, and he caught the hint of a grin on her lips as she nodded. "I'm Dr. Lance Sweets, it's nice to meet you."

"I'm Agent Booth." The man beside Sweets announced, and the girl acknowledged him with a nod.

"Well, Mr. Medina was helping me with math, because I kinda suck...Wait, you're a doctor? Woah,that's super impressive." She smiled and Sweets returned the gesture, feeling himself a bit less stressed and slightly amused by her young ADD.

"Thanks, I'd like to think so. You and Mr. Medina were friends?" Sweets leaned close and the girl finally met his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't know...is it weird to be friends with an older guy like that?...The kids at school would say I was sleeping with him…" She sighed, and Sweets felt a bit of sadness as he saw her doe eyes glisten with tears. She held up her hands in defense and waved them in small circles. "Which I wasn't by the way!" Sweets chuckled and she blushed, looking to the ground. Booth remained silent, knowing this was Sweets' area. "I just...I kinda felt like my friends didn't really want me, or something. Ever feel like that?"

"Oh yeah." Sweets smiled, nodding slowly to show his condolences.

"Mr. Medina, he was a real friend, he liked to talk to me. He treated me with respect, and not like a baby. My birthday's in August and these dumb eyes don't help, and everyone sees me like a little kid they need to protect. I feel like because I look so young, everyone's just acting like they like me as a charity case." She sighed, and Sweets felt like he needed to help her. It was the psychologist in him, and the fact he knew exactly how she felt.

"I know what you mean, I had the same problem." Sweets nodded and she gave a hopeful smile. "I still have the problem actually…" This time, it was Leslie who gave the understanding face to him.

"It sucks, hard core." She laughed and Booth and Sweets both smiled at her slang. "Well, I went over there for some help with my Algebra when I heard this man yelling. I hid behind a corner, and I saw this big scary dude. Like, he had gages and a mohawk and looked about 30! Tattoo sleeves, saggy jeans, and a dark shirt with this bleeding skull thingy on it, he was seriously freaky! He told Mr. Medina he'd chop his balls off and strangle him with them if he ever saw him 'up on his skank' again." She moved her hands to make her point, and held air quotes around the last few words.

"Could you describe him to a sketch artist?" Booth asked, leaning closer. This lead sounded hopeful.

"Probably, I mean I can remember his face but… I'm so bad at socializing it actually hurts. Just make sure they aren't threatening or anything.." Leslie mumbled, looking at her hands as she twisted her fingers. Sweets smiled and set a stick of gum from the pack he'd started carrying on the table, she looked up and he gave a nod. Leslie plucked the gum from the cold table top, and began peeling it open. Booth nodded and pushed up, taking out his phone to call Angela.

"Hey, Dr. Sweets?" Leslie said before popping the gum into her mouth. He nodded to let her continue, and Booth stood outside the door, speaking softly into the phone. "You know, your cool, and probably a total you're like a shrink and stuff, you probably know this but I'll say it anyways….If you think your friends don't want you around, maybe you should talk to them…or something"

"I think I should, Leslie, and so should you." He smiled and she looked at the table nodding slowly as her dark bangs fell over her eyes. He smiled and pushed himself out of the room. Booth was still speaking on the phone when Sweets stumbled towards him. Booth nodded at him, hanging up the phone.

"Angela will be here in five to talk to the kid." Booth announced, jabbing his thumb towards the girl. Sweets blinked at the other man, a feeling of profound confusion washing over him. He knew the name Angela, and an image of dark hair flashed over his memory to connect the woman to the name, but he had no idea what the man was saying. His words seemed disconnected from his memory, and he couldn't place anything. His mind was a blank, and a dark feeling of unknowing kicked at his brain.

"Who's Angela?" Sweets finally stammered, and Booth stood in a shell shocked state of amazement.

"Pretty artist….married to Hodgins. Bones' best friend...Angela!" Booth said, leaning close to the younger man, all feeling of anger replaced by worry. Sweets nodded slowly, but no sense of recognition crossed his face, and Booth shook his head. "What the hell is going on?"

"I'm not sure...what day is it?" Sweets responded, the memories of Angela finally returning at the speed of molasses.

"November 13th." Booth replied, laying a hand on Sweets shoulder. The man was wobbling on his feet, and his hand was pressed to his temple. Booth then noticed the bruise and end of a deep gash near the bottom of Sweets' head, wrapping up to behind his left ear. "What happened to your noggin?"

"What?" Sweets nearly shouted, pushing his hand over the mark. Booth could still see the deep black mixing with a sickly purple and blood blue. The gash was still open, healing slowly and Booth was sure it would become a scar. It's dark scarlett sent shiver through the agent, the scarring tissue adding a perky pink to the sick looking mess. Booth grew more bothered by the fact he hadn't noticed sooner. "Nothing? What are you talking about."

"You didn't remember Angela, you walk like a drunken sailor, you've lost at least five pounds, and that huge cut, plus I'm betting there's more going on then I know." Booth scolded, and Sweets jerked away, stumbling backward. The psychologist slammed against the wall, and a few agents looked over in surprise at the frightening noise. "Your wrist is hurt, and you have a huge bruise on your back!" Booth continued, and Sweets shrunk back against the wall, shaking his head.

"I...have to go!" Sweets said, turning away he ran to his office. Stumbling past bewildered agents, Sweets spun on his heels as he nearly fell over the desk of a very angry looking Agent Tamara Taylor, who clicked her pen furiously. Pushing away Sweets fell into his office, and the door slamming rung through a silent office. Booth stood silently, a cold fear breaking over him as he looked around at the equally stunned agents in the area. "Something's wrong…" Sweets croaked, falling to his knees within the silence of his office. His legs couldn't hold his trembling body anymore, and they'd given out. He now sat in shock on the center of his carpet, shaking his head slowly he still held the area on the back of his head.

'_Whimpering fool. The world's glad I'm gonna kill you.'_

No.

'_Your friends, as you call them, would celebrate it.'_

Impossible.

'_I'll kill you Dr. Sweets, one day.'_

No, he won't be back. Leonardo Havist wouldn't return, he couldn't, not with so many agents looking for him. He's smart, Dr. Sweets knew that, but he's also crazy and determined. If he really wanted to, he'd kill Lance, and he knew it. After this case, Sweets would have to run, he'd have to run to protect those people who didn't care about him. "They don't want me...If I left, it could save them and they wouldn't care. Even if they hate me, I have to protect them because...I care." He whispered to himself, leaning against his arms he felt his muscle shaking. A cold sweat covered his body, and he'd torn the bandage covering his arm. Looking down he saw the horrible, jagged wound that covered it. A burn that throbbed as air graced it with a gentle kiss. An iron had been pressed to his skin, a 2nd degree burn, the doctors said the scarring would be minimal. Sweets' head throbbed darkly as he stared at the floor, his phone buzzing in his pocket. The headache he'd gotten was worsening slowly, and he had a bad feeling about the symptoms he'd been experiencing. When he'd gone to the hospital, the doctors had bandaged his wounds, but he'd fled as soon as possible, he deeply hated hospitals. He'd never mentioned the injury to his head, and the worried doctors were far more distracted by his other wounds, so it went unnoticed. Slumping against the cool plaster of his wall, Sweets let his eyes close. He wouldn't sleep, he hadn't slept last night either, in fear of waking up late like the night before.

In the Jeffersonian lab, everything was at a lull. Angela was in her office, trying to find a match for an injury Brennan had found, the remodeling suggested it was over a year old. Cam sat in her office chair, looking over the case file. Booth turned in her door and she brought here concentrated eyes up, and pulled a smile over her face.

"Seeley?" She nodded, and he walked farther inside.

"Camille." He replied, and she shook her head, a smirk over her lips."I've gotta' question for your big doctor brain."

"Alright..." Cam said, leaning forward gently. She tipped her head to the side barely and gave him her undivided attention.

"Let's say someone had a bruise on the back of their head and couldn't stand up right. Then, they'd puke and wouldn't sleep or they'd sleep way too long, and they got mad at everyone." Booth explained, and Cam grew worried as she heard and analyzed the symptoms. "And they'd get really confused and forget people they knew, very well, but only for a second."

"Well...who are you talking about Seeley?" Cam responded, and Booth sighed heavily.

"Sweets..." He finally mumbled, causing Cam to rise to her feet.

"It sounds like a TBI..." Cam said, crossing her arms, her voice was clinical but her face was worried.

"A traumatic brain injury?" Booth enquired, nodding slowly. "A buddy of mine in Iraq got one of those, he said he got hit on the head but it was nothing. He went out and kept fighting...by the time a medic diagnosed him, he'd gone into convulsions. They said he died of a grand-mal seizure."

"Yeah, that's one of the things that could happen." Cam nodded, looking up at him. "I can't be sure without tests, but my gut says Sweets has one. Its serious, Seeley, you need to get him to a doctor. He could die." Booth looked up to the woman, eyes wide. "A concussion like that, it can cause a coma, and permanent brain damage. Bring him here, I need to look at him."

Sweets sat in his office, staring blankly at the flashing caller ID on his cell phone. It said Agent Booth, this was the third time the device had rung, but Sweets still couldn't answer it. He wanted to, but the buttons swayed in his vision, and the inside of his head buzzed. Voices rang in his thoughts, and memories jumbled together. He couldn't remember which button answered the call, he knew that he knew it but every time he closed in on the thought his head pounded with pain. Sweets sat on his floor, staring down the cell phone with viciousness in his eyes. He pressed his fist against the small frame of the phone and suddenly a loud, annoyed voice sounded.

"Sweets!" Booth shouted from speaker phone and Sweets flinched backwards.

"I'm sorry Agent Booth!" He squeaked, leaning towards the phone. "I couldn't remember how to answer the phone!"

"What?...Just get to the Jeffersonian." Booth said, confused. The a noise like it was going to hang up, but then the voice returned. "And...take a taxi."

"Okay." Sweets said, collecting the phone in both hands gingerly. The final tone of hang up sounded, and Lance rose to unsteady feet.

**That. Took. Forever! Super sorry! Also, I apologize for the choppy nature of this chapter. I'll try harder next time!**

**Favorite/Review/Follow and thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Quick note:** _Okay, okay we can do this. Just keep writing (or reading) and we will eventually get to an end of this short story. Thanks for reading this far, I'll try and keep it up!_

Dr. Sweets walked unsteadily to a taxi and dropped into the seat. The taxi driver glanced back at him with coal colored eyes.

"Where ya going?" The cabby grinned, his teeth pearly white under a ratty mustache.

"Medico legal lab it's on-"

"I know where it is. There's some traffic on 12th, we'll have to take the long way." The mans name card says he was Will Keiller. Sweets nodded, slumping back with the current case files in hand. He tried to read them, and slowly started to piece a profile together when he saw something in a photo. It wouldn't have caught anyone's second glance except his, it was a message. A single nail in a tree near the bones, a shiny, perfect nail sticking from the old bark.

'_I'll drive a nail through your skull.' _

It was the sickly voice of Leonardo ringing in his ears, dripping through his brain in a haunting chill.

"Seems there ain't no one down this way." It was that evil voice again, thick and unfeeling. It held a slight british accent, and had a taunting 'I'm smarter than you' sound about it. Sweets looked up at the cabby, and his dark eyes went wide. The driver looked in the back mirror and smirked at him. "Dr. Sweets, it seems everyones right. You are a bit slow." The voice of Leonardo Havist came out of that cabby's mouth, and Sweets pushed his eyes closed. When he opened them again, the cabby was still there, peeling off the fake mustache he'd placed on his upper lip. The man took a hat off and threw it in the passenger seat, running a tan hand through his dirty blonde hair.

"No-no way!" Sweets sputtered, leaning forward slightly to eye the man, who nodded slowly at him. Everything began to piece together in Lance's jumbled mind: The murder scene was so sick, so twisted only a psychopath could pull it off, a psychopath with experience. The small messages throughout the case falling dreadfully into place, the accounting job, just like Leonardo had, the wife but no kids, just like him. Leonardo had killed Daniel Medina because he was like him before he'd gone insane, he was even in the Navy like Leo! Leo had tutored a young girl who'd been kidnapped, raped, and cut into pieces just months before he'd gone on his own crazy spree of murder. Sweets began shaking his head as the thoughts poured over him, the nail in the tree, the similarities between the two men, the fact he'd been killed November 3rd, which was Havist's birthday, all of it began to make sense. "You can't be...that's impossible!"

"Oh...but I am." The cabby grinned, swerving the car into an abandoned parking lot. The area was small, damp, and the glistening early snow surrounded the taxi. "It's me, old friend, Leo." The hanus voice had a twinge of amusement at how tense Sweets was. The soft British accent in his voice stung like a smack, as Sweets pushed back against the seat. "Did you find my sculpture? I think his name was Daniel."

"Sculpture?" Sweets stuttered, looking down at the photo in his lap.

"I made it for you." Leonardo responded, smiling thoughtfully at the photo. His eyes glazed over the picture with a sick enjoyment.

Booth walked circles around Cam's office, peering down at his watch. "We called him over an half an hour ago! He should be here!"

"Have you tried calling again?" Cam offered hesitantly, keeping her voice low. She knew how tense Booth could get, and she also knew how much he worried about the people he cared for. Brennan stood beside her, and watched him pace the floor. Cam had explained the situation to her earlier, and now she was giddy with worry.

"Yes!" He shouted, throwing his arms out. Cam flinched backwards at his tone, putting her hands up in defense. "I'm sorry...I mean yes, yes like five times!"

"Maybe he lost his phone…" Cam offered slowly.

"Why are you so worried? He may have a concussion, but he hasn't fallen into a coma yet so it's unlikely he will." Brennan said, walking towards Booth. "Is it about the case he was working on a few weeks ago?"

"Yes...it isn't closed. I couldn't get much out of Hacker, but he said that the main suspect was on the loose. Apparently there was an 'incident' and the suspect is very interested in Sweets." Booth sighed, letting himself fall into her arms. "That's Hacker speak for a loose killer who is stalking Sweets."

"Now I'm worried…" Cam groaned, tipping her head backwards. "Can't we have Angela track his cell phone?"

"Yes, she could track it, but only down to a 2 mile radius." Brennan responded. Cam sighed heavily and shook her head, she opened her mouth to speak when Hodgins' rushed inside.

"Duck poop!" He shouted happily, holding a petri dish in his hands. Cam raised an eyebrow at him, and he nodded slowly taking a deep breath. "Okay, okay...I found particles of duck poop on the bullets."

"And?" Booth groaned, trying to press the man on so he could talk to Angela.

"A case that's still open from a few weeks ago, they had victims with bullets covered in duck poop particles!" Hodgins announced, throwing his arms out. Booth stepped forward, and the shorter scientist slunk backwards slightly.

"The case, who was the profiler?!" The agent growled, and Hodgins stepped to a computer. The man frantically typed, looking over his shoulder at the agent.

"Sweets! Sweets profiled the case. The agent in charge said he cracked it." Hodgins said, turning to Booth with a little worry. "The suspects on the loose, isn't he?"

"We need to find Sweets." Booth said, pushing towards Angela's office, the other three in tow.

Sweets shook in the back of the cab, staring at the man before him. Leonardo was explaining the murder of Daniel Medina in a deep, horrible detail. He described the smell of blood, the kick of the gun, even the feeling of the air on his skin. He looked out the window dreamily as he recalled how Daniel's face twisted in pain, and how his jaw hung slack after he kicked him. Every word sent a shudder through Sweets, but he kept listening. Silently, he prayed to a God he wasn't sure he believed in and kept asking for Booth to find him. "I've been following you for weeks now, Dr. Sweets. I was hiding, ever since Daniel, I had to hide because the police wanted to find me. I had to follow you, so I couldn't do anything." Leonardo sighed, looking back at Sweets with contempt. Lance understood what he was saying, he had to kill someone soon. It was Leonardo's addiction, like others are addicted to alcohol Havist was addicted to murder. It had started with watching murder movies, researching serial killers and the most gruesome kills in the world. Then, after the murder of someone he'd known personally, his dam finally broke and he took the life of his neighbors. It progressed on from there, ending with Daniel. Now Leo looked at Sweets with this desperate need, a sick, twisted obsession that Lance knew meant only one thing: Leonardo Havist needed to kill him.

"Come on!" Havist barked, snatching up a black bag. Sweets gulped, looking at the man. Havist snatched at a knife in anger and pressed it to Sweets' neck, hard. "Now!" Finally, the man pushed the front door open and swung Sweets' own door open, pressing the knife to his side, Havist guided him out of the car. The cold wrapped it's cold frost around him, and snow began to rest in his dark hair. Shivers took over his body, and he stumbled in the snow. The cold, painful blade of a knife pressed to his side he let Leo guide him through snow. Turning his gaze back, Sweets saw his phone blinking silently on the seat of the abandoned cab, along with paper and photos splayed over the pavement and in the car. The file of Daniel's murder spread across the snow, slowly soaking up the winter cold.

"Angela! Did you get his cellphone signal?" Booth growled into a phone as he swerved through the emptying streets. Snow was falling in buckets, and Brennen was beside him rambling on about how strange snow this early was.

"Yes, yeah, uh..just a sec." Angela's voice came through the line, and Booth groaned. "I uploaded this software that...you know what? That doesn't matter! He's a block from you, in the parking lot of a shutdown bar called..'The Fishermen.'"

"Right, thanks Angela!" Booth said, pushing the end button. He swung the car around and headed toward the run down building. Turning into a parking lot he saw a lone taxi cab. Snapping his gun from it's holster he motioned for Brennan to stay inside and jumped from the vehicle. He slowly shuffled toward the vehicle, his gun held in front. Pushing it into the open back door, he peered around the corner. Letting out a breath he looked into the car, and felt a heavy disappointment hit him. He saw the phone sitting on the seat, blinking with 16 missed calls. The photos from the crime scene lay at his feet, the edges wet with water. "Bones!" He hollered, and the woman ran towards him.

"He isn't here." She sighed, looking over the area. Leaning inside the car, her nose scrunched at a scent. "Duck poop…" She mumbled, clasping a hand over her mouth and nose. "Duck poop! Leondardo Havist was here!" She said, turning to her partner.

"What?...Wait if he was here then.." Booth pointed to the tracks in the snow, that were slowly being covered by a layer of snow. "He took Sweets…" Seeley gasped, looking at Brennan who eyed the tracks.

"With this snowfall...these tracks were made no more than ten minutes ago." Brennan said, looking over the footprints.

"So he's close?" Booth asked hopefully, and Brennan nodded. "I'll call backup, let's follow these tracks!" The agent said, pulling his phone out.

Sweets stumbled along with Leonardo, his head still pounding. The numb tips of his fingers were cold, and his toes burned with the freezing winds. His nose was turning pink along with his ears, and he couldn't see straight. Havist was guiding him through an ally, headed toward a silent part of town, where a construction sight had been put on hold because of a lawsuit. This sight was where the FBI thought the first murder had been committed, though the body was found elsewhere. "This is where I punished Nina and David for not protecting Kayla. They let her get killed, they deserved it." Leo said, his breath curling from his lips. Sweets nodded slowly, listening to the man talk about how wonderful Kayla was, and how much her parents didn't deserve such an amazing daughter.

"I understand." Sweets said, and the grasp on his arm tightened.

"No you don't. You pretend to, but you never really get it." The man hissed, pressing the knife to Sweets' side. "I should have killed you last time. You walk around, pretending to care about people, but you don't! You're just a little liar!" Sweets flinched at the words, and said nothing more until they reached the construction area. Leo pushed Sweets towards a flag pole that had been put up and threw handcuffs at him. "Put 'em on." He ordered, and Sweets complied slowly. Hooking himself to the cold metal of the pole, he leaned his pounding head against the hard metal. Sweets wasn't wearing a jacket, and could feel the cold seeping into him. The icy chill clawed slowly through his muscle, tearing away at his strength until it reached his bones and he was shaking and chattering. Leo grinned as he watched the man shiver violently, the killer was wearing a thick jacket over his shoulders, and insulated pants with big boots. The handcuffs were cold on his wrists, and they pinched his skin. Sweets cursed himself again for leaving his gun at the office, he'd been worried about having it with his dizziness.

"W-wh-why are y-y-you j-ju-just st-st-standing th-the-there?" Sweets stuttered, his body quaking with violent shivers.

"You lie to people. You make them think you care, just like every other shrink." Leo said, his voice eerily cheery. "You deserve it." Sweets could feel his knees start to give out as he nodded slowly at the man. His fingers felt like they were going to detach from his body, and his toes burnt with the cold. Soon he saw Leo pulling something from the bag beside him, and squinted to make out the object between the snow. "Shrinks like shock therapy, right?" Leo grinned, and soon pressed the hard metal end of a cattle prod to Sweets' side. Lance's eyes widened in horror and he shook his head violently, trying to stop the man but it wasn't enough. Leo pressed the object to Lance's rib cage and pulled, sending a shock of electric through him. Sweets could feel the burning, sharp pain shoot through every nerve in his body as he collapsed into the snow. Again, he felt the metal pushed to his skin and another shock awoke in his body. The pain was unbearable, and it cause his legs to kick out violently. His eyelids fell closed from the pain and shock, mixed with the bitter cold of the night, slowly he peeled his eyes open. He felt the metal touch his skin again, and saw the large figure of Leonardo stand above him before he finally fell into unconsciousness.

**Oh! Woah, what? Was that a plot twist, or just a way to screw with your emotions?**

**The world may never know!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Quick note: **_This took way too long to get up, I'm sorry! I was deathly ill, black plague stuff guys. I really meant to write this sooner, didn't mean to leave at a cliffhanger._

Booth and Brennan walked through the snow, and she held his hand in her's to avoid getting lost in the growing blizzard. "Bones, the tracks they-" Booth gasped as he pointed out at the tracks before him. Some went left, some went right, some forward and yet some looked as though someone had been ballet dancing.

"They are attempting to confuse us?" Brennen enquired, looking over the disappearing tracks in horror. Some marks looked like shuffling, others looked like a body was dragged. The sickening feeling of worry washed over her as the possibility of Sweets' body having to be dragged through the snow hit her.

"Yeah, Bones, and succeeding." Booth groaned, releasing her hand. He pulled his gun up in a swift movement and balanced his shooting hand atop his other. The pistol was an extension of his arm, and he moved steadier with it in his grasp. He turned slowly in the snow, looking over the snow like a hawk. "They could be anywhere, stay close Bones." Booth said as he pressed his large frame in front of hers, keeping the cold bricks of the wall behind her. After a few minutes the agent took his partners smaller hand in his and began to cautiously walk forward.

OOO

Sweets blinked at the harsh darkness, which didn't make sense. Every inch of his body felt numb, and he was shaking so violently the chains on his wrist had caused his skin to bleed. The chattering of his teeth was violent, and his lip was bleeding. Dark hair filled with snow and a suit soaked through from melted snow. His body was starting to ache, fiercely, as the numbness wore off. Lance began to question why he was chained to a pole, soaking wet, and in unbearable pain when he saw the twisted face. The snow trailed in the demons hair, and his smile was thick and dark. Leonardo stood there, spinning a cattle prod in his hands as he stared down at Sweets. "You look like a baby." His slightly british voice laughed down at the doctor and suddenly a heavy boot hit his ribs. The world flashed a hazy red, and another kick connected with his gut. A deep kick cut into his skin, pushing against his muscles and organs until Sweets felt the irony taste of blood in his throat. Spitting out the ruby liquid, the psychologist stared up at who he thought was sure to be his killer. "Pathetic." Leo spat down at him, sending another deep kick into his gut. Sweets coughed more blood into the growing puddle, and Leo gave deep baritone laughter. "So, Dr. Sweets, how shall I display you when I'm done?" Leo hissed into the psychologists ear. Already, Lance could feel the cold wrapping into his body, clawing into his skin deeply. He had strangled cries filling his dry throat as he just stared up at Leo with dark chocolate eyes. The blood in his mouth was thick with lack of saliva, and the numbness of shock wearing off to create a feeling of being poked with thousands of needles. His head pounded with what he was sure was a severe concussion at this point, and the world was severely strange. Everything slow, but fast, and every noise a strangled, shouting whisper in the darkness of blinding light. "Hm, no last wishes Doctor? Tsk, tsk! How dull." Leo giggled, giggled, the words as he stroked a gloved finger over Sweets' jaw. Suddenly there was a jab at Lance's gut, and his eyes widened as a pain shot up and down his every lim. Another electric shock, and another, and another made there was through Sweets' frail body. The numbness of shock and cold swelling in his organs until he felt like his heart was about to tear fiercely open. "Your agent and his pet geek will be here soon, won't they?" Leonardo sounded happy, no...giddy, with this new information. Sweets was bait, dammit, bait to get those two! "Tsk, little self conscious doctor, I do want to hurt the wonderful Jeffersonian team some what, but more so I want to hurt you. I want to kill you slowly right in front of those two loving people that have taken you in. I want to make you bleed!" Leo smiled sharply, dragging his leather gloved hands over Sweets' face. "Go to sleep, _darling_." He smiled, stabbing the cattle prod into Sweets' gut. The resulting shock actually shook Sweets' body so violently he'd smacked his head against the pole and the world went black, again.

OOO

They heard it, they tried to pretend they hadn't but they both knew they heard it. The blood in their veins freezing slightly, theirs bones tingling and theirs muscles stopping. The scream. Sweets' scream. It had frozen the partners, it was the kind of last ditch scream you do when you think you'll die. It was the helpless, needy, heart wrenching yelp that people made before they saw an end to their own life. It wasn't just the horror film screams you could imagine, it wasn't a scream of pain, it was a scream of helplessness. A deep, deep scream that gutted any who heard it. This scream made your skin tingle like there were tiny sparks dancing across it, this scream made you freeze where you stood and nearly break into tears. It was the yelp that was meant to reach the ears of loved ones, the last 'I love you, I want to stay but I can't' noise the victim could make. Only had Booth heard it twice in his life, and both times the culprits of the horrible noise would be found alone, cold, and staring at him with helpless, fuzzy eyes. Their hands would be pale, and their face would be contorted into some sort of horrible pained expression that would shake the mightiest soldier in his boots. That horrible, last ditch noise coming from a man he knew, a man he cared for sent a deep realization through that agent: Sweets would die, really die, if he didn't do something right-fucking-now. When he turned to face his partner, her beautiful features were etched deep with pure fear. Her ocean eyes that he loved so dearly were misty, and her soft lips contorted into a slack jawed expression. The noise had shaken her so deeply, so harshly she couldn't move her feet. She'd heard that gut wrenching noise once, and never again had she wanted to hear it. She had been looking at bones in a foreign country when that noise crept into her mind and curled it's way around her thoughts to tightly she almost the little boy had stumbled in front of her, he gave this sad look to her before collapsing with a bullet wound to the chest. His eyes never left her thoughts, still to this day she remembered those eyes. Deep, deep brown with this curious twinkle and brilliant look with in them, thick lashes and tears running down his face. Those chocolate eyes stared at her with sadness, not in dying but sadness in being unable to discover anymore then he had in his short life. Those eyes had been resurrected when she met Sweets. His eyes held a fierce curiosity, a deep hunger to understand, and obvious genius within the pupils. Sweets eyes held a deeper ache to help other, but they still had that deep brown that was oh so beautifully curious. It startled Brennan at first, but soon she found herself so happy to see those eyes spark at the sight of her and her friends. She'd never believed eyes held some sort of window to the soul, but they did hold thoughts. Biologically they did, so by science she had to believe that when she saw that deep stare from Sweets it was his brain running on full speed. It was an interesting thing, his face changed slightly when he really thought and his eyes grew wider, like they were hungry to eat every detail of the world around him. She wanted to see those eyes spark again, she wanted to see that happy-go-lucky curiosity again, and she swore she would. No way was dying in a pathetic blizzard at the hands of Leonardo Havist.

"We have to find him." Brennan said, finally breaking the loudest silence in history. Booth nodded in agreement, and turned with his hand still clasped around hers.

OOO

had heard the scream, he'd felt the rumbling in his chest and throat and he felt the gnawing sensation his lungs when it finally ended but he didn't remember actually screaming. The scream was frightening, even Leo stumbled a bit at the noise. Sweets had never heard such a frightful scream in his life, it was a deep, bone rattling thing that would wake the neighborhood, if there was one. Leo stared down at him and then his chapped, pink lips curled into a shivering smirk. "Good! Wonderful! Beautiful! I loved it!" Leo clapped slowly as he laughed each word out. He bent down and breathed deeply into Sweets' ear, his breath burnt Lance's nostrils with the smell of tobacco and mint. "Do it again, darling, _scream_ for me."

"Your sick."

"Thank you."

"Twisted! You're _disgusting_!"

"Keep talking _dirty_ to me baby." Leo's breath curled against Sweets' ear, and the psychologist winced and shuddered.

"Why me?" Sweets croaked out, trying not to gag at the smell of the man's breath.

"Because, you caught me. You saw past my charm, and decided I was the killer." Leo said, his voice dripping with disgust and admiration. "You were brilliant, but now I'm bored." Sweets' energy was gone, and he already felt the beginning effects of hypothermia sprouting in his body. Lance simply made a disgusted grunt in response, and was thanked with a steel toed boot to the gut. Lance hissed in response, his body lunging forward as he was kicked again. " , the brilliant boy shrink, lying her at my feet in a heap. Bleeding, beaten, and dying. I have won, darling, I have won."

OOO

"We'll find him, Booth."

"Oh God, I hope so." Booth sighed out in reply, his hot breath curling in the winter snow. Brennan squeezed his hand a bit tighter, and looked around desperately for a sign, a noise, a clue to where their shrink was. She began to grow frantic, cursing at the stupid footprints and the undeniable genius that Leonardo Havist had. "Wait, I heard something." Booth whispered, ducking forward towards a construction site.

" , you've lost!" Came a thick, baritone voice that had the smallest hint of a British accent. His voice dripped of contempt, laughter, and just pure evil. "Their heeee-rrrr-eee" Sing-songed that eerie voice, and Booth raised his gun with scarily steady hands. Brennan trailed behind him, cautiously they walked forward.

No training, no visit to a country full of death, and no case or body could prepare them for the sight that awaited.

OOO

_Walking down the streets, Sweets could see his body shaking. His skin was so cold it burned, and his eyes were dry because he couldn't blink. He was shuffling through the snow, and he finally made it to the Jeffersonian. When he walked into the lab something was so terribly wrong. His friends,(Were they even that?) walked around him in perfect order, but their eyes. Eyes? No, they were black holes that swirled with dark purple and blues so tantalizing and frightening Sweets began shaking more. They swarmed around this body, it had flesh but the flesh was translucent and you could see bones. The body was perfect, pale skin without a mark. Long limbs splayed out, not a bruise or scratch or freckle or anything. It was all perfect except those marks on the back. They were deep cuts, and inside wasn't blood, but fire. A burning flame of pure pain and anguish that swirled beneath that perfect flesh. If you looked closely, you could see the swirling under the translucent flesh, and the bones inside the body were all broken. Every bones was broken, every one of them snapped in half. The eyeless bodies walked around the body, no one looked at Sweets. They all stared at this body, and suddenly the head turned to Lance and his breath hitched so violently in his throat he coughed. The eyes that stared at him were a clear, perfect, deep blue and the lips were soft and pink and twisted into a deep grin. "Hello." The body gargled, the voice a deep, unnatural noise. The face that stared at Sweets caused his violent chattering to persist violently, because you see, the face was his own. He saw his skull through the skin sheet of paper, and he stared at those deep blue eyes. He was so impossibly cold, his body was cold it was seriously physically impossible unless he was…._

_No._

_But there his body was, with those perfect diamond blue eyes._

_No, no he couldn't be…._

_ Sweets was….._

_DEAD._

**Well that took for-fucking-ever. Sorry for the language, and yes I leave yet another cliff hanger darlings.**

**Read/Review/Favorite/Follow/ and have a megga huge, epic, absolutely hardcore thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Quick note: **_Okay, we'll be ending this off soon I promise! Okay….maybe not. I promise to only flatline him a few times._

_Dead._

_Dead, cold, heart not beating, body not breathing. End. Over. All of these things, that's what Lance was. He was gone, he was staring at his face with those blue spheres staring right back. It was all cold, but peaceful. The body just smiled at him, it smiled and smiled until suddenly a noise made Lance turn._

**Bang. Bang. **_**Bang! **_

The world spun and tilted, the cold hitting him, then the numbness and the unbearable pain. His ribs ached with a brilliant fire, and his head couldn't think. Soon, Sweets moved past all the pain he'd been feeling for an hour now to be met with the view of blood. A deep scarlet pool around his body, and suddenly his legs jerked and he felt it. Something digging into his chest, the right side. He felt a piece of burning metal tearing into his body and then liquid draining slowly out of him. His dark eyes fluttered at the site of the ruby pool, and he heard screaming around him but he couldn't look anywhere but the blood. It reflected his face, and small snowflakes floated on the surface and melted slowly into it. It's funny, so funny Sweets felt himself smiling, but everyone says dying hurts so much.

It doesn't.

His wrists, his ribs, his head, his everything had hurt so much, so violently before but now? Now his body felt like it was emptying, like his soul was slowly moving away from him and he just smiled at the pool of blood. It was fascinating, how the blood swirled and caught the falling snow, and how to puddle slowly grew in different directions. It was blissful, he couldn't hear and his vision had tunneled onto only that pool. Suddenly there was a pressure where he could feel the blood draining from him. The gunshot wound he assumed, he tried pushing the hands away but his hands were still held in place by chains. He liked this feeling, this feeling of finally being free. He didn't want help, he didn't have any real reason to stay anyways. His family was dead, he had accepted that the people he cared about didn't care about him, he had no lover, he had no reason. So instead he just gurgled out the words. "S-s-stop i-i-it." The words tumbled slowly from his face, but they came.

"No, Sweets, the ambulance will be here soon." Came a thick voice, and Lance recognized it. He didn't know why but he he knew that strong, sure, deep voice. Agent Booth! That's who was pressing his chest, who was taking his chance for peace away. "You'll make it, and then you'll get better and it'll be great. Just stay with me." Sweets tilted his head at the agent, finally tearing his gaze from the puddle. He was so confused, he didn't want to 'make it'. He just wanted this unbearably painful and boring life to be over. He was also confused on when he was shot, and where the hell Leo was. He was so confused that he got angry, and he was so angry at being saved that he got sad and suddenly he was laughing. Booth looked down at him in bewilderment, and Sweets laughed harder. He didn't know what the hell happened, and he couldn't figure out why he was so happy, but all he wanted was to laugh.

"L-let m-me g-g-go!" He laughed out, kicking at the snow near his feet. The water had soaked his clothes, and he was shivering and giggling and staring at the most confused looking man ever. "L-let m-me die." Lance howled with giggles, shaking his head as the hand pressed harder on his chest.

"Why is he laughing?" Came a clinical, yet scared voice from behind him. Brennan? Yes, that would make sense. She sounded frightened, and worried, if it was anyone but Brennan Sweets would say she was concerned, but as it was that's impossible.

Why am I laughing? Sweets thought briefly, then recalled why his giggle fit ensued. Because this is so ridiculous! He nodded in agreement with his assumptions. Everyone always saying it hurt to die, well it hurt a hell of a lot more to live.

"I called the ambulance, Sweets, hang on." Booth breathed, his deep exhale curling from his lips like a dragon. The entire world tilted and flashed red as a bolt of pain expanded from Lance's chest in ripples. He took a sharp breath in, catching the scent of bitter winter and dust with oil braided in. He could taste the shrill cold around him, it burnt his tongue along with a few stray snowflakes. The world flashed again, but when it came back there was a heavy blackness around his vision. The world was slowly shrinking away from Sweets, and the pain came as he closed in on death. Sweets heart was slowing, and his blood was draining, his breath was caught in his lungs and his world was fading. Booth face was deep with worry, and he looked several years older.

**Flash**-bitter pain-**Flash**-shrieking, deep guttural shrieking-**Flash**-darkness.

"Sweets!" Booth deep voice howeled. "You stay with me, you idiot, you aren't leaving us. Not until you tell me why the psychotic British guy was after you, not until you hug Christine. Not until you learn to draw the fruit basket Angela was showing you. Got it, kid, you aren't going anywhere!" Booth shouted, he shouted and Sweets ears rang. He felt the hot, panicked breath float across his cheeks but everything was going dark. It was all so blissful. "No, no_ Lance_!" Sweets felt the hand on his chest shake him slightly, and his eyes were heavy but he opened them. "You aren't leaving yet, you're barely a grown up! You have so many girls to date, so many screw ups to make! You haven't even got a tattoo!" Booth voice was angry, but he has cracked and the tears teasing those eyes couldn't really be there? Sweets' vision was hazy, his mind was tricking him. This big, burly sniper, ex-ranger, FBI agent wasn't crying because he was dying. No. _Impossible._

"Booth, they're coming!" Brennan's voice was hoarse and broken, she sounded like she was crying. Again, impossible. She wouldn't cry over Sweets, ever since he left Daisy one thing was clear: No one would cry over him. Now he saw two of the most emotionally unmoving, strong people in the world breaking into freezing tears over his withering body.

Doesn't matter. Sweets mused bitterly. You're dying. No, you're not just dying idiot. You're pretty much gone, unlikely you'll ever open your eyes again. Sweets scolded himself internally as he saw the blue and red lights flashing. The twinge of the metallic smell of his own blood invaded his nose suddenly, unaware of the sent until now. He squinted, trying to discover the reason the scent was so close to his nose it scrunched up of it's own accord. Suddenly it became clear as the feeling of a shaking, warm hand on his cheek finally made it's way to his brain. The ruby liquid that dripped from the palm was on his cheek, it was Booth. The agents deep chocolate eyes blown wide with worry, his hand shaking and his face holding a deep denial. The entire sight was heart breaking, and Sweets let his eyes flutter shut to ignore the pain it jolted through him. They didn't care, he didn't care. That was it, wasn't it? The darkness of his eyelids became deeper, more horrible and he couldn't force them open now. They were cemented shut as the iron smell that grazed his senses began to fade. His hearing was going also. Another cry from Booth escaped his ears as the dark swallowed him up. It consumed his limbs, his thoughts, his breathing, this thick velvet darkness took him away. Sweets was sure that this darkness was his end, and that he'd never wake up again. Slightly more disturbing was that he wasn't even sure he cared.

OOO

"Flat line, Kirk!" Yelled an EMT, then darkness.

"Get him into surgery, now!" Screeched a doctor, and again the deep blackness swallowed him whole.

"Family or friends?" A kindly, but tired looking man greeted the group before him. An odd mismatch of people turned bloodshot eyes to him. There was a chocolate skinned woman with a beauty so tantalizing no one could ignore it, she held onto an eastern looking man who whispered in her ear. Beside them was a strange curly haired man whose crystal eyes shot around nervously, and hanging on him in tears was a gorgeous woman in a skirt and curly hair. Shifting further over was a stern, but beautiful woman in the arms of a burly looking man who the doctor was sure could break your neck with one arm.

"Friends, but we're all he's got." The voice was sure, boss like, feminine but broken from tears. The doctor, Dr. Wilson, turned his deep blue eyes to the woman and gave a nod.

"Well, his records support that. I don't know if I should share.." Wilson admitted slowly, looking at his clipboard.

"FBI." The strong looking man said, whipping out his badge with practiced ease. Wilson nodded and gave a sigh, running his finger through his ebony curls.

"Right then, you all look rather professional." He noted the lab coats everyone but the last couple sported. "He flat lined 3 times, and is currently in a comatose state. We have hopes, but his brain function is abnormal, and his heart rate is falling. Though, his heart has been steady for nearly 20 minutes, we're remaining vigilant. Being from the Jeffersonian institute, you all are sure to know what all this together means. We are doing our best, and we have hopes but the possibility is serious." He took in a breath, and the dark skinned woman broke into a new rush of tears. The stern woman on the far left bit her lip and her stormy eyes flooded, and even the man ,who the doctor decided had a military background, was squirming with tears in his deep brown eyes. Wilson took a deep breath of the chemical smells around him, and coughed from the sudden burst of cleaning agents in his lungs. He was still new, and this hospital seemed to use a great deal of cleaning agents, even overly so. "We will keep you informed."

With that the friends were left with a retreating doctor, he was a very short, but skinny man. Well built, but still naturallythin, the scrubs clung to his slim waist barely and he held the clipboard to his side. Booth took in a heavy, wavering breath and could feel the hot tears falling on his shoulder as Brennan buried her face in his neck. He could smell the salt running down his own cheeks, and his face itched but he didn't dare move. It was like if he even shifted it would all come crashing down, and Sweets would die right then and there. Thinking back a few hours, Booth's ears still clung to the sound of manic laughter, and that horrible scream. It wasn't like the scream before, the one that was released when you saw your end coming. No, this was like the high pitched screech you gave when there was such a burning pain your body couldn't handle it. It shook the world, and it was desperate. It stole the air from Sweets' lung, and it held the sound of utter agony within it's notes. The scream had rung out in the air, it had followed that horrible laughter.

Let me die.

That's the phrase that cut through Booth's mind, it sliced at his heart. It had been a desperate, horrible request with the will of a man giving up behind it. It had only been heard by the agent, but he knew he had to tell the others. They needed to know. He opened his mouth to speak, but looking over his broken friends he knew it was wrong. There was a silence, only interrupted by a shuddering breath or sudden waterfall of sobs. This whole scene was horribly wrong. Sweets was just a young man, he was a kind hearted man who only wanted to help. Why was a psycho after him? How the hell did that psycho shoot him? Booth hadn't seen a gun, not even Sweets' gun. How had Leonardo run out before Booth shot him? Was he coming back? Of course he was. He wanted to kill Sweets, it was his goal and now he was on the run. When had their world come crumbling down, and why hadn't Sweets ever mentioned how deep in shit he was?

When had he stopped trusting them? Booth took a sharp intake of breath and regretted it immediately as the biting burn of bleach invaded his lungs. Brennan sat beside him, he inquisitive gaze was dulled, broken and her deep stormy eyes were blank as she stared at the table. In her features the image of denial and grief was so perfectly managed, and it broke the ex-snipers heart into pieces.

"What's it all mean, the stuff Wilson said?" Booth asked his partner, who turned her glazed eyes to him and tilted her head in question. "The doctor, I noticed his name tag."

"The first 48 hours are critical as you know, and of course there is complications due to those previous injuries he had. Altogether the fact s-state…." The woman took in a heavy, shuddering breath and laced her fingers in Booth's as she looked at the floor. "With the TBI Cam mentioned earlier and the gunshot wound and blood loss, it's highly likely he won't...ever...wake up." As her words broke the heavy, chemical filled air everyone stared. They knew, of course they knew they were scientists dammit, but having it said out loud? No, now it was real, the words were out and the reality was biting.

"I'm going to find Leonardo Havist." Booth growled, his deep eyes turned a frightful charcoal as his gaze fell on the wall. "And I'm going to cause that bastard some real pain."

"You won't kill him." Brennan stated, keeping her tone exempt of emotion.

"Nope, but I'll make sure he knows not to screw with my people."

"He'll be coming back?"

"Yes." Booth answered shortly. "And we'll be ready."

OOO

**Oh, that took a day and an age. Sorry. **

**Thanks for reading, reviews are loved and appreciated even though I never reply! I just dunno how. **


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